Ramblings from the Road…

No one had seen or heard from the old grey scrote who goes by the Wheelman or his trusted aortic pig valve named Pinto in over a semestral. There had been a couple of possible sightings–last December a man was seen dressed in a santa suit in the outer lobby of a Saulte St Marie Walmart, next to a Salvation Army donation bucket, overzealously ringing a string of bells and shouting at the top of his lungs, “More Cowbell.” In early March, a woman of certain Finnish descent, near a place called Pine Stump Junction, spoke in a barely decipherable tongue, proclaiming she saw a broken down camper van, a macabre man, a wolfie looking dog and a pig valve carrying an empty jerry can along a snow covered forest road in a blizzard.

May 1st, 2024–Lady Luck the Wheelman’s touring bicycle is awakened out of hibernation by large waves crashing against the rocks of the Lake Superior Shoreline. She is hanging like a bat upside down on a hook in a shed outside a small log cabin. As she comes to her senses, outside she can hear the drumming of a grouse, the cry of a sandhill crane and the seasons first house flies buzzing and pattering off the glass of the shed window. She wonders, where are my people? They aren’t here?

Lady Luck does a graceful backflip off the hooks, lands it and scores a perfect 10. She quickly boots up her laptop, opens an AI enhanced version of Google Earth and starts a search for Pinto and Wheelguy. First of May, where might they be? Possibly trail work on that National Scenic Trail known as the North Country Trail? The AI enhanced version captures the trail map and surrounding areas of the western UP of Michigan. Lady Luck next plugs in a license plate number, utilizes another AI function, hits enter and…boom chucka lucka lucka, boom chucka lucka lucka, there it is–Camper Van Beethoven, parked on a graveled wooded road in Ontonagon County, an area known as the Trap Hills, East of the Porcupine Mountain Wilderness area. Lady Luck then uses the nano chip-ultra focus function, you pay extra for that, and sees an old Specialized Rockhopper bicycle laying on some abandoned railroad tracks along with a backpack and a chainsaw about 1/2 mile from the Van. She follows the tracks east and recognizes a woman who simply goes by “M” walking the tracks. Lady Luck focuses in closer and sees that “M” looks a wee bit pissed. Up the tracks another 1/4 mile she spots two decaying men riding those fat tire bikes with chain saws on their backs. She recognizes Stella the snow bike, the Wheelguy, Pinto the Pig Valve and the Wheelguy’s trail buddy who goes by “J”. J and M are a couple or maybe after this adventure, were once a couple.

This team or elderly trail crew would be more apt, had volunteered to cover for another trail sawyer and help out on this section of the North Country Trail–seven trees were reported down and blocking the trail.

Choices–Do you access the downed trees by hiking up a long steep muddy bluff carrying a chainsaw, extra fuel, bar oil, water, lunch, first aid kit, etc in what’s known as the Scenic Trap Hills area–about a 6-7 mile round trip or do you utilize fat bikes and take the flatter 8 mile sneak route along the abandoned rail line that once carried ore from the copper mine in the former mining town of White Pine?

Bikes, with their strong persuasive techniques, ruled this day and off they go. “M” opted for an old school mountain bike with 2 inch tires. It had a rack for the chain saw. Realizing after 1/2 mile that her tires could not handle the jarring of the rail ties she wisely dumped her load of gear and began to walk happily unencumbered. The two dolts bump along the tracks on their fat steeds getting thwacked in the face every few hundred yards by overgrown branches.

Stella the fat bike is in her element. The Wheelman is lost in thought, searching for traditional train songs in the ghost vinyl housed deep in the noddle. Pinto the Aortic Pig Valve is working at full bore as the incessant bouncing sloshes blood over the sides of his porcine tissue.

The pedaling is about as fast as a belly crawl and “M” catches up with the bikers often when they have to dismount and push around downed and overgrown wood along the tracks.

These abandoned tracks provide a nice travel corridor for wildlife to move freely through the dense forest and around the cliff bands. Scat in every size, flavor, and color decorate this rail line like ornaments on a holiday tree. A bear, most likely, fresh out of hibernation, leaves a gigantic wrapped gift. Beavers doing both the backstroke and the crawl construct dams and houses along seemingly every creek drainage.

High above the cliffs of these Trap Hills is a hacking site where young Peregrine Falcons are nurtured, provided a pen and food, then released in the hopes that they will return to these cliffs and someday to nest.

The tracks develop a life of their own as a stylus sets down on the ghost vinyl. A train, engine 143 is running late and crashes upon the rocks on a bend trying to make up for lost time. Georgie our main character is gravely injured. The Wheelman wails out the last stanza into a misty fog as they thump along the tracks.

“The doctor said to Georgie your life cannot be saved
Murdered upon a railroad and laid in a lonesome grave
His face was covered up with blood and his eyes they could not see
And the very last words poor Georgie said was nearer my God to thee”

At about the four mile mark the team spots the signature blue blazes marking the North Country Trail. The trail crosses the tracks heading SE and the teams hikes in taking out 7 down trees in a 3/4 mile stretch.

Total exhaustion engulfs the two bikers on the return trip–internal organs shaken so badly they no longer reside in the proper spot. “M” is the only one still in one piece.

The last sign of the Wheelman and Pinto that day was of them sitting on the farthest western bar stool in the country’s eastern time zone.

Camper Van Beethoven

“M” a Few Minutes Before Making the Smart Decision to Leave all the Gear and Simply Hike.

“J” Getting Thwacked Once Again.

Beaver House constructed in their impoundment. Bear Dung Below…

“J” bumping along. The actual North Country Trail is at the Top of the Ridge you see in the Background.

The Wheelman. The Peregrine Hacking Site is on the Ridge above the Cliff Band.

Thank you J and M for including Pinto, Stella and the Old Scrote on this adventure. It was memorable.

Cheers!

“You got to wash with the crocodile in the river
You got to swim with the sharks in the sea
You got to live with the crooked politician
Trust those things that you can never see”

Written and Recorded by Johnny Clegg (The White Zulu) and Savuka.

August 8th-9th, 2023.

A couple of bicycles lean against a bridge in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Ya don’t really think of Michigan as the ‘middle of nowhere’, although a few states in the lower 48 have an area or two that can still make that claim. Parts of the UP can feel that way.

An aortic pig valve named Pinto who lives in the chest of a somewhat odd older man with a mania or one could even say unnatural fixation for cycling along with his touring bike named Lady Luck will be accompanied on this trip by some newbies to ‘bike touring/ bike packing’– call it whatever the frick ya want. The bygone sour faced Wheelman gets easily annoyed and equally confused being bogged down in terminology–often as exasperating as those people with initials behind their names who speak only in acronyms. Who really gives a rats arse anyway…

A Wheelgal and her bike named Alby, on their first overnight bike tour will be joining the team. Lady Luck the Wheelguys cycle, suggested in stern terms to the Wheelman, “don’t fuck this up if you ever want her to join you again. Make it achievable and fun–possibly even romantic.” Pinto the Wheelman’s pig valve chimes in and says, “I can pump all the blood as hard as I can, but the old codger will never be a romantic stallion again, and have you actually looked at him recently, not an ounce of swag.” Lady Lucks then says, “back to point, keep the first trip at two days max and do the overnight in one of those budget flea bag motels you so often frequent. Keep the bikes light. No camping gear to weigh her down.”

Wheelguy says, “I have just the thing. Big Ericks Bridge to Big Bay. Only 60 miles total out and back. 30 miles each way. Each day consists of 20 miles of loose gravel, 10 miles of pavement, and tons and tons of really fun potholes and washboards on the dirt section and…only 2000 ft of accumulated vertical feet to climb. Lady Luck then gives the stink eye, “are you going to tell her about the two miles of 6″ deep sand we will literally have to push through as we transition from the Ford road into the AAA road.” Wheelguy mumbles and stutters, something about a man is entitled to a few secrets…

Pinto the Pig Valve, who is multilingual says to the Wheelman, “let’s roll ya Scheiskopf.” (German for Shit Head). Alby the Wheelgals bike, who speaks Dutch, seconds that by saying, “start turning your cranks ya old stront hoofd.” Wheelguy, oblivious, replies, “You betcha.”

A tonearm swings, a needle drops on some ghost vinyl embedded in the Wheelman’s frontal cortex. The legendary Minnisotan folk musician Charlie Parr is bending those acoustic strings in a slow painful angst and lyrically summing up someones random life in 8 short minutes. Titled ‘Everyday Opus’.

The name Eric when spelled with a C is a common manly man name–but add a K to it, Erik or Erick, you now have a bad arse, larger than life, specimen. Possibly of Viking blood? Lots of Eric’s with da K still roaming the North Woods. Maybe that’s why the mosquitoes in the North Woods are so large and prolific.

Pinto reels the story back in and goes on to tell the cycling team that the embarcation point of this trip, Big Ericks bridge was named after the legendary lumberjack and foreman of Henry Ford’s lumber mill in nearby Pequaming. A campground, bridge, road, and waterfall all bear his name.The lumber for those classic Ford wagons known as woodies were milled in Pequaming and fabricated into the auto’s classic siding in Iron Mountain, another UP location. Ford Woodies were manufactured between 1929-1949.

Cycling east on the Big Ericks dirt track paralleling the West Fork of the Huron river, the crew is startled by the loud splash of cobbles being kicked up in the river and then the snapping of branches along the tag alder choked riverside. The only thing big enough to do that around here is a black bear or moose. Wheelgal picks up her pedal cadence. Peering over shoulders, no animal was ever sited but the adrenaline was now high for the upcoming climbs.

Lady Luck, the Wheelguys bicycle keeps the pace deliberately slow. Enjoy the scenery, stop, snack, hydrate. About 8 miles in, the team spots the marker for the turn onto the Ford Track–turn right at the pink double D bra. Yoopers often mark their backcountry road junctions with bras and panties.

They continue the climb and come across some deer tracks being followed by a large animal in what is known as a single track pattern. Wolves have those hocked shaped front and hind legs and when they run or trot, their legs all swing inward. The tracks they form are almost a single row of foot prints often spread many feet apart depending on their speed.

Eventually hitting the notorious sand stretch the Wheelgal wipes out in the sand. She sucks it up, dismounts and pushes Albi for the 2 mile stretch. Wheelguy who has practically pushed his way across the country a few times is oblivious to the road conditions. Being unaware or simply heedless is sometimes an advantage of aging. Depends how ya frame it.

The team turns onto the AAA road through the Yellow Dog plains and quickly finds the wild huckleberries and blueberries intermingled along the roadside. They get their fill and move on. They come across the first vehicles of the day and chat with a few folks out picking berries for their jams. “It’s a hell of a good crop this year, aye,” the team is told!

Next, the team rolls past the entrance to the remote Eagle Mine–a US designated strategic mine producing nickel and copper. Nickel is used in high powered batteries and this mine is one of the few sources of Nickel in the USA, thus the strategic designation as the country inches at a snails pace to electrify transportation.

Big Bay began as a lumber town whose wood was used to make bowling pins of all things. It gained its enduring notoriety after a 1962 Murder. An Army Lieutenant murdered the Tavern Owner of the Lumberjack Bar, accusing the owner of raping his wife. The trial was a circus. A book was later written and the classic movie called ‘Anatomy of a Murder’ which was about the trial was filmed in both the Lumberjack Bar and the Thunder Bay Inn. The defendant was found innocent by reason of insanity.

Pinto the pig valve and the two Wheelfolk check into the economical Big Bay Motel and then hoof it to the Historic Thunder Bay Inn for beer and fresh grilled Lake Superior Whitefish.

Lady Luck and Alby stay at the motel and chat. Alby thinks Lady Luck has the best ever job exploring the world with her own two wheels. Lady Luck then gets real with Alby; she explains, “yes , I still love my job and have earned my qualifications over the years, but always beware, your job will never ever love you back. We are all eventually relegated to an old shed or the back of the garage to be hung on a meat hook to be bled out. Albi says, “Whoa! Dats pretty harsh. I was hoping to end my days as some trendy yard art with a vintage basket on my handlebars full of fake flowers. Lady Luck laughs, then tears up. She gives Alby a huge smile, a long hug, and says, “Girlfriend, for us women, it’s often a Cruel, Crazy, Beautiful World, but I sincerely hope we get to do another bike tour together in the future.” You’re doing awesome on this trip. You got this…

Will the Wheelgal and Alby return in future adventures? The verdict is still out in this trial to Big Bay.

Here is a link to a historical guide to Big Bay, MI.

https://www.miroadtrip.com/big-bay

Best Regards, Da Wheelman, Wheelgal, Pinto, Lady Luck and Alby.

July 10th, 2023

Camper Van Beethoven  pulls into a motel parking lot packed with Ford F-150’s–all resembling oversized Bud Light cans, many pulling 16-18 ft aluminum fishing boats with 60 plus HP Mercury motors. Must be a big river or reservoir nearby?

Pinto, the aortic pig valve, who lives in the chest of an invalid old cyclist, says, “Where in damnation have you taken me now?”.

The Wheelman replies, ” We are at the Grand Coolee Dam in Washington State on the Columbia river. We are here because this is where the US Government offered Woody Guthrie a 12 month job to write songs promoting the building of this dam, but they cut his contract short to only one month because of his political views.” Pinto asks, “What year was that? Sounds like today…”. 

I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
I slept on the ground in the light of the moon
On the edge of the city you’ll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind
California, Arizona, I harvest your crops
Well its North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine
Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in the Union us migrants have been
We’ll work in this fight and we’ll fight till we win
It’s always we rambled, that river and I
All along your green valley, I will work till I die
My land I’ll defend with my life if it be
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free

Written by Woody Guthrie in 1941

Seeds are sown from dam irrigation.

The Migrants toil, The White Man eats, The Salmon die. Choose your poison. 

Wheelman sowed a seed 30 years ago with a fiery progressive woman whose premature silvery hair sparkled like fireworks on the 4th of July. An  intelligent child grows into a man, flourishes and is snagged up by a woman whose grit, determination and broad smile will conquer all.

Wedding vows are exchanged between two young people who will climb the peaks of life together.

How does an older person try to explain their deep feelings and love to their younger offspring? Maybe life is just words put to music–a folksong.

May you have Pastures of Plenty!

Random notes: Many new rail trails and single track trails were explored over the past three weeks heading to Washington State where marriage nuptials were danced into fairy dust. 

Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and the Dakota’s–all have very fine cycling. The Black Hills have fine road biking, gravel rail trails, and single track for the Mnt bike crowd. Just Google and go.

Cheers from Pinto the aortic pig valve, Greta the gravel bike, Ella the E bike and last, Camper Van Beethoven who is currently hauling our fat arses home to our beloved Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

Wednesday April 12th, 2023 (The Southern Tier Bicycle Route)

The early morning winds were shaking branches against the old metal trailer park motel roof–maracas and tambourines laying down a backbeat for some cheesey 1960’s Herb Albert horn solo. The Wheelman checks the wind report and it is still forecasting high westerlies the next two days.

The prior evening, the team of a Wheelman, his aortic pig valve named Pinto and touring bicycle Lady Luck had left their phone number with the barmaid Michelle in Ocotillo, CA. This team including Charley the cycling companion would need a pickup to get their bicycles and gear up the 5000 foot pass in this headwind. If they could just get to the top, they were willing to brave the wind and urban traffic the last 45 miles down into San Diego.

The phone rings at 7:45 AM and Michelle says, “No Luck, but…I’ll borrow my boyfriend’s pickup and be there in 90 minutes and just do this myself.” Lady Luck and Pinto start humming the Merrilee Rush version of Angel of the Morning.

“Just call me angel of the morning Baby, just touch my cheek before you leave me.”

The bikes are loaded, Michelle drives the truck with loose steering up and up and up into the 30 mph headwind at speeds one should not say. Pinto the pig valve says, “I pumped all that blood to get Wheelguy’s fat arse across the country and I’m just gonna go down in flames in a spectacular car crash next to the damn border wall.” The team is safely plopped on top, hugs are had– Wheelguy touches Michelle’s cheek lightly with his cracked dry lips. Michelle drives east, the team pedals west towards San Diego.

5 1/2 hours later the team hits the gas for the last three miles through a strung out homeless encampment along a greenway. They finally reach what is known as the dog beach in San Diego. Lady Luck the touring bike dips the front tire and the patented Velveeta cheesy fist pumps are done by all!

73 days total including 9 or 10 rest days. 40 days solo, 33 with Charley. 3100 miles total–at least 20 of these miles pushing a 70# loaded bike up steep grades. Thank you Pinto!!

One of those online dictionaries defined the question; what is a story? A narrative, either true or fictitious, in prose or verse, designed to interest, amuse, or instruct the hearer or reader; tale. A fictitious tale, shorter and less elaborate than a novel.

We can’t thank you all enough for reading the stories of a Wheelman, Pinto the aortic pig valve and Lady Luck the touring bicycle. They were all typed with a love for words and music by the right index finger on a smart phone–usually after 6-7 hours of cycling.

What now? Head home to Michigan’s upper peninsula–two dogs named Echo and Abby and a good gal named Janet who puts up with the Wheelguy’s Wheelman routine for a few months of the year.

Wheelguy will soon start his volunteer work clearing the downed trees from North Country trail for the summer hikers and backpackers. Pinto is due for an Echocardiogram. He faultered a few times but never quit. Lady Luck will get tuned up and some new 44 mm gravel tires for summer riding.

Having Charley our cycling companion the last 30 days was a blessing. He was calm, cool and collect when the going got tough. He never panicked when Wheelguy’s pulse became weak, blood pressure dropped and the baby aspirin was chewed. He was patient when bicycles needed to be pushed miles on end up steep grades. Thank you Charley for all of the great life conversations.

Charley has friends in San Diego who are putting the team up while they arrange shipping the bicycles home and booking plane tickets. Charley will then be heading off to live on his sailboat in Wrangle, Alaska for the summer.

“Attitude is the difference between an ordeal and an adventure.”
— Bob Bitchin

Cheers, The Wheelman, Pinto, Lady Luck and Charley.

Folks they meet cheer them on–the home stretch. Men or horses? A Wheelman, his aortic pig valve Pinto and bicycle Lady Luck pedal across the Yuha desert West of Calexico on Hwy 86. A large wall with barbed wire parallels the highway as far as the eyes can see. Creosote bushes are serenaded by the yellow trumpet bushes. The flat tailed horned lizards are putting on their finest camouflage to blend into the changing daylight.

Men and horses are not that different. You overwork them, they pull up lame. 32 miles in the oven, a headwind, a rough slow surface and you end up in a trailer town like Ocotillo in the desert.

About 90 miles to go but a 5000 foot climb up a mountain pass from sealevel awaits with high wind warnings in the forecast for the next three days. An absolute impossibility.

The Wheelman knows what to do–go to the towns one bar. Put on the salesman’s hat. Smooze. Find someone with a pickup truck to drive them to the summit of the mountain the following morning. Then ride the last 55 or so downhill miles into San Diego.

Charlie the cycling companion and the Wheelman leave the bar after two hours of pizza and a beer. Charlie says, “was that real or an episode of Twilight Zone?”

Bartendress, says, she doesn’t believe in conspiracy theories and then reels off a good dozen over the next two hours–from COVID to the dark sides of the US government. She tells us a story about redneck aliens from outerspace dressed in overalls with no teeth. She starts humming dueling banjos. The Mexican gentleman on the barstool next to Charlie is listening and giving his input, thinking the story is about illegal aliens. This disjointed conversation goes on for a good 15 minutes with neither party having a clue. The only thing they agreed upon was that redneck aliens with no teeth should be shot.

Another man comes into the bar, he had just been pulled over by the Hwy patrol, getting some kind of report ticket for driving on an expired license. He owed 400k in back taxes and the state suspended his driving privileges. He said, getting pulled over upset his nerves so bad he needed a drink. He downs three Budweisers before hitting the road over the pass towards San Diego. He tells the Wheelman that his wife is super hot. He digs out his wallet and shows a photo of a scantily dressed buxom blonde. She was from Eastern Europe and he found her on the internet.

Walking back to the trailer park motel, a twitchy lady is outside her single wide, head to the sky, yelling obscenities. Could she be cursing some God for a life of meth addiction and living in a 110 degree desert enclave–or was she communicating with the aliens?

The bartendress lives a few miles from the border. She said, she packs a gun for security on her property but usually just gives the few illegals that pass through food and water and wishes them luck. If they get this far, it would be inhumane to turn them in.

The team leaves their phone number with the bar gal and she promises to call in the morning if she can find a pickup to help the boys navigate through the howling wind storm now in full force. Will the team encounter more Angels?

“Depend on the rabbit’s foot if you will, but remember it didn’t work for the rabbit”

Cheers, The Wheelman, Pinto, Lady Luck and Charley.

Monday, April 10th, 2023 (The Southern Tier Bicycle Route)

The team awakes at 3:00 am and is out the Casino door 45 minutes later. A crux move–45 miles across the desert through the Algodones Dunes (Imperial Sand Dunes) and then another 21 miles into Calexico. Temps predicted near 100 by mid afternoon in this below sea level stretch. Once again, a mix of frontage road and Interstate 8.

The Wheelman is afraid his ghost vinyl will warp in the heat as he rides today, so he pulls out the old RCA am tube radio stored in his occipital lobe and spins the dial. Nothing but mariachi static from across the Mexican border in the lower KHz ranges but at the higher end he picks up a station from Calexico playing an old Wall of Voodoo song from 1982.

“I feel a hot wind on my shoulder
And the touch of a world that is older
Turn the switch and check the number
Leave it on when in bed I slumber
I hear the rhythms of the music
I buy the product and never use it
I hear the talking of the dj
Can’t understand just what does he say?
I’m on a mexican (Whoa Oh) radio
I’m on a mexican (Whoa Oh) radio

The team of the Wheelman, his aortic pig valve Pinto and touring bicycle Lady Luck discuss the labor shortage they have seen all across the Southern USA as they pedal. It’s agreed by all, we need to give jobs and opportunities to some of the migrants. The Wheelman, not from higher educational echelons, has no better solutions to offer the politicians, but he would tell them to use their hearts like these folks were their own family. What percentage of these broken people actually have fentanyl in their backpacks? Pinto reminds the Wheelman not to go there. It’s complicated and civil conversations are unfortunately rare these days.

The heat rises across the desert sands as the team rolls west–sluggish legs, sluggish minds. The ghost radio fades back and forth across the borderline. A staticky Raymond Ayala accordion blends into Selena singing Como la Flor– comparing love to a wilted flower.

Charley, the Wheelman’s riding companion, flats twice in the last five miles. Charley is now up to five flats total on the Southern Tier with the Wheelman still in the lead at seven. Not bad for almost 3000 miles of road.

They see the border wall a block ahead as they roll into their cheap hotel in Calexico. 61 miles and 7 1/2 hours on the tarmac including the flats.

Lady Luck reminds the whole team, “you can’t build a wall to stop the music.” They turn the radio dial again and pick up a station from Mexicali–a giant wall of sound–Diego Rivera, blowing out some hot Mexican Jazz. Something called Soul Purpose.

“When you get to know a lot of people, you make a great discovery. You find that no one group has a monopoly on looks, brains, goodness or anything else. It takes all the people – black and white, Catholic, Jewish and Protestant, recent immigrants and Mayflower descendants – to make up America.”

Judy Garland

This is a very old quote that could be updated in a more modern and inclusive terminology, but Judy has the right spirit. “There’s no place like home.” Let’s give some of these folks a home.

Cheers, Lady Luck, Pinto, Wheelman and Charley.

April 8th-9th, 2023 (The Southern Tier Bicycle Route)

Towns and cities love to tout they are World Famous. World Famous Hatch Chilis, World Famous Gumbo, World Famous Mosquitoes, or Yuma, AZ, the Sunniest Place on Earth.

Pinto the Wheelman’s Aortic Pig Valve suggests that Yuma’s slogan should be, World Famous E coli. Yuma County produces 90% of all leafy vegetables grown in the USA between November thru March. Lettuce being numero uno. “So lettuce pray we don’t get E coli.” Pinto reminds the team, “always wash your produce.”

Wheelguy asks Pinto, “What’s this non-sense all about?” Pinto says, “they grow around 175 different types of crops in this valley with water coming from both the Colorado river and from the ground water aquifer. Didn’t you see those massive cattle feedlots north of the old Hwy? There must have been 100,000 cattle. That’s a lot of rump roast in a one butt kitchen. Those bovine bodily fluids have to go somewhere and also it’s a darn good thing we don’t smoke.”

Lady Luck the touring bike orders a salad at lunch just to spite Pinto. Then she really tries to get under his skin by calling him Mr. Trichinella. Pinto says, “ya better not eat pork in front of me, never ever, or I’m putting a fatwa out on you.” Lady Luck then tosses her lettuce at Pinto.

Pinto, instead of reacting, takes a deep breath, holds it for 10 seconds and exhales the air out slowly like he just smoked some fine fragrant Afghani hashish from the 1960’s. He then opens Chapter 5 of his own best selling book, A Swines Guide to Anger Management. He reviews the three ‘R’s–Resentment, Resistance and Revenge. These can lead to a self destructive loop ruining almost every life they touch. So many options he knows to break the chain. Option 7 is so simple and his go to–listen to your favorite soothing song or musician. In a matter of seconds Pinto is back in 1968 with Tommy James and the Shondells.

Look over yonder
What do you see?
The sun is a-rising
Most definitely
A new day is coming (ooh, ooh)
People are changing
Ain’t it beautiful? (Ooh, ooh)
Crystal blue persuasion

April 9th, the team takes a safer zig zag route heading northwest on the edge of the Yuma metro area–over 200,000 with an additional 70,000- 85,000 snow birds all awaiting cataract surgery and trying to master the use of a smart phone while driving.

Retirees are attracted to Yuma where the the cost of living is almost 12% below the national average. Yuma has 308 sunny days per year and only 3 inches of annual rainfall. The average July temperature is 107 and the record high is 124.

The alternative route winds through the fertile Dome Valley which once was a huge flood plain for the lower reaches of the Colorado River before the maze of irrigation channels were engineered. Both Charlie and the Wheelman felt it was some of the best cycling of the trip through this varied cropland.

The lush irrigated valley eventually turns into desert and the team heads through an Army military site used to test ground combat military equipment and train personnel. Known as the Yuma Proving grounds the facility encompasses 13,000 square miles.

The team crosses into Imperial County California just west of Winterhaven. The tone arm swings from right to left and gently sets down onto the outer dead wax, rotates a few times at 33.3 rpms and hits that first groove.

“I’d like to dream my troubles all away
On a bed of California stars
Jump up from my star bed and make another day
Underneath my California stars”

“They hang like grapes on vines that shine
And warm the lover’s glass like friendly wine
So, I’d give this world just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars”

Lyrics were written by Woody Guthrie, rediscovered by Woody’s daughter and put to music by Billy Bragg and Wilco.

Rolling through the Quechan Indian reservation the team endures multiple attacks from dogs. It’s a sad ending for one rat terrier–charging into the road towards the Wheelman and dying instantly under the wheels of an oncoming car.

The team rolls into the Quechan Casino for the night with blunted emotions from the accident. In the evening, they will plan the assault across the dune region of the California desert to El Centro to beat the upcoming 100 degree heat.

For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind. Ralph Waldo Emerson

Cheers, Pinto, Lady Luck, The Wheelman and Charlie.

April 6th-7th, 2023 (The Southern Tier Bicycle Route)

Early morning, April 6th, SLC friend Bob dropped the team back on the Southern Tier Bicycle Route on the SW side of Phoenix after two rest days at the spectacular McDowell Mountain Regional Park. Pinto the Wheelman’s aortic pig valve drops the tonearm on the ghost vinyl, cueing up the theme song for the Wheelman’s touring bike Lady Luck. Tom Waits begins to croon as the team begins the last leg of the journey…

“Well, my time went so quickly
I went lickety-splitly
Out to my ol’ 55
As I pulled away slowly
Feeling so holy
God knows I was feeling alive
Now, the sun’s coming up
I’m riding with Lady Luck
Freeway, cars and trucks
Stars beginning to fade
And I lead the parade
Just a-wishin’ I’d stayed a little longer
Oh Lord, let me tell ya that the feeling getting stronger”

Lady Lucks left eye wells up into a tear–787 carats of glistening moisture, the exact size of the great mogul diamond–in which no one knows it’s current whereabouts. This 157 gram jewel of luminescence falls from the handlebar, only to be caught by none other than the Wheelman’s water bottle. This now sacred vessel will power the team home.

A tailwind southwest into the heart of Maricopa County home to 62% of Arizona’s population. (4.5 million) Hwy 85 vs old Hwy 85–White Freightliners vs tractors. Extra wide loads engulfing the road shoulders–pilot vehicles –bail out. The giant complex of Lewis Prison with its seven housing units capable of housing 5000 inmates. Agricultural land irrigated by the Salt and Verde River watersheds. Vast solar farms. A cheap room in Gila Bend. A fine Italian restaurant.

Interstate 8 vs frontage roads. Pedals churn, legs burn, world turns. Date tree farms–an oasis. Dateland RV park. Find Shade. Set tents. Hydrate or die. Take heart meds. Thank Pinto. Lube Lady Luck. Check air pressure. Team meeting with Charley the cycling companion. Plan the sunrise. Hug Lady Luck.

Lady Lucks eyes well up again and she spins the ghost vinyl to cap the day. The team sings along…

Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof
(Because I’m happy)
Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth
(Because I’m happy)
Clap along if you know what happiness is to you
(Because I’m happy)
Clap along if you feel like that’s what you wanna do

Pharrell Williams. Happy 2013

Cheers, Lady Luck, Pinto, Wheelman and Charley.

April 4th-5th, 2023 (The Southern Tier Bicycle Route)

McDowell Mountain Regional Park sits in the Sonoran desert just NW of Phoenix. The team of a Wheelman, his aortic piggy valve named Pinto and touring bike Lady Luck are currently spending a few days resting there with SLC friends. The campers at adjacent sites are complaining to authorities about a frightening noise that sounds like feral hogs snorting. The campground host comes over to the site mid afternoon and sees the team of three in a state of deep sleep. One would think they were looking at a trio of hoary cadavers, if not for the tumult, coming from the combination of six flared nostrils. Pinto startles awake, shouting at the campground host , “criminy, ya scared the rind right off my pork– we are exhausted and just resting–what’s the problem mister big shot? Anyhow, isn’t this known as the snoring desert?”

The Wheelman and Lady Luck, in a rare state of blended dreams, sleep right through the hubbub Pinto is dealing with. Wheelguy has now shifted into a REM dream–a conflicted state between all the road angels who have helped the team on this journey; the Baptist preacher, the Seventh Day Adventist gal, the women with the fuck Biden and fuck you too if you voted for Biden sticker on her truck, the Mormon Church on the Apache reservation that allows cyclist camping and those helpful small town Texans. How do you reconcile their personal kindness and generosity with their churches hypocrisy towards women’s rights, the lgbtqia communities and the churches influential money train helping to fan today’s stark political divisions?

Lady Luck the touring bike, intertwined in the dream,  throws more gas on the fire with the Wheelguy teetering on a precipice. She drops the tonearm on some ghost vinyl from 1977 and Crosby Stills and Nash are belting out…

“Open up the gates of the church and let me out of here!
Too many people have lied in the name of Christ
For anyone to heed the call.
So many people have died in the name of Christ
That I can’t believe it all.
And now I’m standing on the grave of a soldier that died in 1799
And the day he died it was a birthday
And I noticed it was mine.
And my head didn’t know just who I was
And I went spinning back in time.
And I am high upon the altar
High upon the altar, high.
I’m flying in Winchester cathedral,
It’s hard enough to drink the wine.
The air inside just hangs in delusion,
But given time,
I’ll be fine”

The Wheelman jerks awakes in a profuse sweat–clothing is soaked, the mouth is dry, lips cracked and fused together. The last thing he remembers was that he was on a large black horse, dressed in leather armor in the year 1233 CE–a Christian Crusade to slaughter people who differed in views and to wrestle back the Holy Land from the infidels.

The team has now been on the road for 64 total days, 8 of those rest days or weather delays–2700 miles of pedal strokes. The first 40 days were solo, with Charlie joining the team for the remainder. These trips would be tough without the many road angels who are personally demonstrating their beliefs by feeding, housing, and sometimes opening up the back of their pickup trucks to help a weather stranded rider. At least once a week, someone says a prayer for our safety. Are all the road angels Pius? The majority have seemed to mention their church or religion. More thoughts and discussions to be had.

These touchy subjects often come up in those weekly team meetings with Charlie joining in on the banter. Charley fits the Wheelguy’s team perfectly, as he rides for the diversity and new stories that each day brings, not the goal of mileage, speed or destination like so many other riders we meet. Riding across America is not the goal. If there is even a goal it would be to understand and accept the differences of the American people and become a more empathetic and helpful human– derived from the enlightenment that cycle touring can bring. The truth of the matter for Wheelguy’s team is that American politics, religion and society in general seems more bizarre each day leaving the Wheelman and his team in an evermore twisted and tangled dream state. There are less than 400 miles left before San Diego to sort things out.

“If the Constitution was a movie, the Preamble would be the trailer, the First Amendment the establishing shot, the 13th the crowd pleaser and the 14th the ultimate hero scene.” Henry Rollins

Cheers, Pinto, Lady Luck, Wheelman and Charley.

March 31st-April 2nd, 2023 (The Southern Tier Bicycle Route)

The Wheelman and team, are so awed by nature, they are devoid of words. Why don’t you simply say, I’m just too tired to write?

In the Bylas market on the Apache Reservation, a Native American was heard telling a cyclist and his pig valve named Pinto that, “yes, you will make it, but first, you must learn to breathe.”

Cheers, Wheelman, Pinto, Lady Luck, and Charley.